


Ante In

by lil_1337



Category: Nero Wolfe (Rex Stout)
Genre: Gen, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for smallfandomfest 13. Set post “Disguise For Murder”.</p>
<p>Prompt: Nero Wolfe (Rex Stout) - Archie & Saul - If Saul usually wins at poker, why does Archie play?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ante In

My arm was still in a sling courtesy of Mrs. Homer Carlyle and her friends the goons from the auto shop, so I had been sticking pretty close to home. Home, of course, meant the brownstone on 35th street where I lived along with Fritz, Theodore and Nero Wolfe, the one-eighth-of-a-ton genius. There were thousands of orchids too, but they didn't count because, while they were living breathing things, they did not draw a salary. Not that they didn't drain the bank account quicker than the rest of us; but that, as Wolfe would say, was beside the point.

It had been seven days and I was bored out of my skull. I couldn't type reports, work on germination records or any of the other non-detective duties that helped me earn my pay. Even the idea of poking the bear had lost all joy. If I didn't get out of there soon something bad was going to happen, so I called Saul and talked him into hosting an impromptu poker game. Wolfe was still up in the plant rooms, so I informed Fritz of where I would be, stole a slice of freshly baked bread with butter and beat it.

I took a taxi since I hadn't been cleared to drive by Doc Vollmer yet and Saul's place was too far to walk to even for me (and I like a chance to stretch my legs.) The cab let me off at the curb ten minutes before I had arranged to be there, but I knew Saul wouldn't mind; we both believe in the ‘better early than late’ motto. It's just of one of the many things that we have in common.

Since I was the first to arrive I helped Saul by setting out the liquor bottles and glasses while he arranged trays of meats and cheeses to snack on during the game; there were chips, pretzels, pickles and fresh rolls from the bakery down the street, too—Saul had learned the art of hosting at Fritz's elbow and prided himself on always putting out a good spread when we played at his place. It was one of the reasons I didn't mind missing the pork chops that Fritz had been making for dinner.

Orrie was next to show, followed by Lon a few minutes later. Normally Fred would have joined us too, but he had a job; he’d said he would try to make it if things went quick, but with a wife and kiddies to feed none of us ever begrudged giving him a pass. The only one who ever got grief was Orrie, and that was because he would ditch a game at the drop of a hat for a skirt.

With Fred not there I focused on winning some dough from Saul. When Fred plays, Saul and I try to make sure that he goes home with more than he came in with (or at least close.) Once a few years ago his wife had threatened to pull the plug on poker night, so now we treated him with kid gloves. Orrie and Lon though, they're both single and make good money; I can fleece them to my heart's content and never lose a minute of my required eight hours.

But even when the cards are falling my way, it is Saul that's my real competition. Many a hand has come down to the two of us fighting a war of wills after everyone else has folded. Sometimes I think Lon pays for the pleasure of watching us go nose-to-nose.

Saul's got a hell of a memory. It's one of the things that makes him so damn good at what he does. He blends and he remembers: names, faces, details… Once he's seen, heard, or smelled something, it's his forever. He knows people and can predict what they will do almost as well I can. I have before and will again bet my life on Saul's opinion; next to Nero Wolfe I trust his judgment the most.

He also bluffs better than anyone I have ever met. Me, I'm good; I know how to arrange my face to look bland and uninterested and for anyone else it's a shoo-in. Not for Saul though. He knows nine times out of ten if I'm bluffing or holding a good hand. It should bug me, and with anyone else it would, but not with Saul-- with him, it’s a challenge. He's one of the few people around that remind me I can still improve my game.

And that's pretty rare in my world. Sure, there are plenty of people willing to criticize, that comes with being in the public eye. But that rolls off my back like water off a duck; no matter what your job is, there are always people who think that they know how to do it better than you do. It's a disease I suffer from every time I go to a ball game; I'm the best pitcher in the world from my seat in the bleachers.

That night was pretty much like most nights. We ate, played and told stories; each one less believable than the last. By the time we closed it down I was up ten and Saul was up twenty with Orrie the main donor. Fortunately, Lon helped him out some, so he had enough left for the cab-ride home. He'd have to borrow a dime if he wanted to stop for a cup of coffee along the way, though, and it did my heart good to see him humbled a little. Maybe next time he wouldn't be so obvious about how well-suited he thought he was for my job.

When they were gone I helped Lon clean up before calling a cab.

Back at the Brownstone I tipped the cabbie from my winnings and sent him on his way. Fritz was still up even though the rest of the house was dark and quiet, and he let me in with a sleepy yawn; I closed the door and slid the chain on before wishing him a good night. For the first time since my injury I took the steps two at a time, whistling low but jaunty on my way. I had a few extra bucks in my pocket and my brain was coming out of its funk. Tomorrow, no doubt, would be a much better day.


End file.
